


A Peasant's Winter Bath, In Summer

by ellijay



Category: Merlin (TV), Merlin - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 01:04:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8556685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellijay/pseuds/ellijay
Summary: Merlin, newly arrived in Camelot, is left an anonymous gift of rosemary-scented soap. Its use has unexpected but not unpredictable results. Memories and the future ravel out from there. Starts after “Valiant” with flashbacks to before “The Dragon’s Call,” then jumps forward to after “The Lady of the Lake.”





	1. Rosemary and Roslyn

**Author's Note:**

> This is a real departure for me in terms of what I usually write. It rambles quite a bit in time and place and mood, and is actually rather smutty in places, so if you have a pure and innocent image of Merlin in your mind that you’d like to keep untarnished, this is probably not for you. Nothing too extreme or graphic, though – about what you’d expect to find in the average trashy romance novel. It’s all Merlin’s fault, really. I was working on another story where he was having a wash, and the cheeky young warlock started behaving rather naughtily. I sternly told him it wasn’t that kind of story and he relented, but some things that are thought cannot be unthought, and thus this story began.

Merlin had been in Camelot hardly more than a fortnight, and everything was still so new to him. Even minor tasks had to be figured out and fit into his new world and routine. Things like bathing. Gaius had already scolded him once about not washing up, but he’d been haphazard about it even after that. Now someone had gone and left him a small package that turned out to be a cake of soap. Rosemary scented, no less, which made him think it probably wasn’t Arthur being clever, unless he’d assigned the task to someone else and that person had either thought it would be funny or hadn’t given any thought to how the soap smelled. Fortunately, Merlin rather liked rosemary.

He had found that mornings weren’t the best time for washing up since he seemed to always be running to do something or other before it was time to wake Arthur, and evenings were no better due to the inevitable exhaustion after tagging after his royal high and mightiness most of the day and seeing to his every whim. Midday strangely turned out to be the best time for him to grab a moment to himself, after he’d taken Arthur his midday meal. The prince would usually do paperwork after that and tended to shoo Merlin away, lest he make too much noise and interrupt his concentration. Gaius was usually out seeing patients in the middle of the day, so Merlin thought he could probably have some real peace and quiet around that time. He was about to put it to the test.

He’d brought a bucket of fresh water back from the well last night and left it standing in his room where the morning sun would fall on it through the window and thus warm it up to a tolerable temperature. He felt rather smug with himself for thinking of that, even though it was born of laziness and a desire not to have to use cold water straight from the pump.

He went up to his room with the soap in hand, then closed and latched the door behind him. He didn’t much fancy someone walking in on him scrubbing his bits. He put the basin Gaius had provided for him on top of the table under the window and filled it with water, then opened the chest at the foot of his bed and retrieved two small cloths, one for soaping and one for rinsing, and a larger one for drying. Once he had everything set out and ready, he stood there for a moment, oddly perplexed at how to proceed.

It wasn’t that he’d never bathed from a basin, obviously, just that he’d never done it in summertime. Back in Ealdor, whenever the weather was warm, he’d simply shuck his clothes and have a bathe in the stream near the village, just as nearly everyone else did. More often than not, Will or some of the other boys were there, so splashing and dunking took precedence over actual cleaning. They usually stayed in the water long enough, though, that they emerged squeaky clean, no soap needed.

The basin would come out in the winter, when no sane person would jump into a running stream, even if there were open water among the ice. No one in the village owned a bathtub. Who would want to trudge back and forth through the freezing cold or summer heat to fill it up and end up either catching their death of cold or falling prostrate from heat exhaustion?

Even inside in the wintertime, with cold wind blowing through the cracks around the door and shutters, Merlin had no desire to strip himself bare just to get clean. He would simply run the flannel under his clothes, washing and drying one part at a time. Just the necessary bits: face, hands, feet, under the arms and down the front. His mother called it “the peasant’s winter bath” and had instructed him on what it entailed when he was still far too young to be embarrassed by such things.

Now, though, he was faced with an odd situation – bathing from a basin, but it was warm enough that he didn’t really have to shove a wet cloth inside his clothing. He shrugged his shoulders and took off his clothes, everything down to his bare skin. The window was open and there was a warm breeze blowing in. It felt quite nice to feel it fluttering through his hair and over his body. He stood there a moment enjoying it, having a good stretch and flexing his sore feet against the floor. Although he was well accustomed to having very little opportunity to sit down for most of the day, that had been on bare dirt or grass in Ealdor. The stone floors here were a nuisance.

He wet one of the flannels in the basin, then rubbed the soap into it. It smelled wonderful and made him think of summer fields and sunshine. He started with his face and worked his way down to just before his middle, reveling in the soft feeling of soap on his skin, followed by the fresh splash of clean water with the second flannel. A bit of a puddle was forming around his feet, but he figured he could mop that up later. Or just leave it for the air to dry. Probably the latter. Then he worked his way up from his feet until he reached the middle again. He’d had the habit at home of leaving his midsection until last in the wintertime because a cold cloth down the front of his trousers was not exactly a pleasant experience, and thus something to be put off as long as possible.

Now, though… The flannel was warm and slick with soap and felt incredibly, amazingly good. Too good, judging from the reaction it was causing. He looked around, slightly flustered, even though there was no one there to see. It was nearly automatic for him to look about because at home in the summertime, when he wanted to … relieve himself, it tended to happen out of doors, usually spying on the girls bathing in the stream, and he had to be careful lest someone sneak up on him. Not so bad if it was Will or one of the boys because he’d just get a teasing, and besides, they all did the same thing. Somewhat embarrassing but mostly rather amusing if one of the girls noticed because they usually screamed and ran away. He’d never been caught out by any of the older folk, or at least he didn’t think he had. Maybe they simply had enough discretion to walk away quietly if they happened upon something untoward in the woods. They’d been young once, after all.

All of this thinking back to watching naked girls whilst hiding behind a tree with his hand down his trousers was not helping matters now. He wasn’t sure if he should proceed with tending to his present state of agitation because, well, this was Gaius’s home and he still felt like a guest here. Then again, surely he couldn’t be expected to _never_ … That was a horrible thought. And besides, Gaius wasn’t here at the moment and he’d never know. Better to do it now than wait until he was in bed at night. Gaius might come up to fetch something at an inconvenient moment. The room had obviously been used for storage before Merlin arrived and still had quite a few things in it that Gaius needed from time to time, occasionally at night since he apparently tended not to go back to sleep if something woke him up. So now seemed as good a time as any. Merlin shrugged and went to work.

Why, why, why had he never discovered the joys of a soapy flannel before? Probably because the only times he'd ever used one before this was when his mother was on the other side of the curtain in their one-room house. That thought spoiled the mood. He shook his head to get rid of it, then closed his eyes and turned his mind to something else, that time he and Will had snuck off to Atherton for a little adventure...

*****

Merlin had arrived at a rather awkward stage of his life. He was old enough to be considered an adult, but since he wasn’t married and still living in his mother’s home, he didn’t quite feel like a grown man. He bemoaned the fact to Will one time, and Will told him he had an idea how to remedy the situation. He was vague about what it entailed, though. He only said it was something that couldn’t be done in Ealdor without there being trouble later.

A few days later, Will dragged him off to the town of Atherton, nearly a day’s walk away. Well, perhaps ‘dragged’ wasn’t the proper word. Merlin was more than willing to go along. He’d rarely been far from Ealdor his entire life, and never to Atherton. He was excited at the prospect.

It was late summer, almost autumn. Harvest would begin in earnest soon, but for now there was a bit of time for idling. On Will’s insistence, he didn’t tell his mother where they were going, but he left a note to let her know he expected to return late the next day. He didn’t want her to worry. That way she probably wouldn’t be angry either. Although most in the village considered Will to be a troublemaker, and truthfully he and Merlin did get into quite a few scrapes together, no real harm ever came of it. Merlin suspected his mother mostly left them alone because Will knew his secret and had kept it, and he looked out for Merlin whenever he was able.

By the time they arrived in Atherton, the sun was nearly down, but it seemed towns were far more active and lively even after dark than villages like Ealdor. Amongst the homes and shops and stables were several taverns, full of light and life and the din of conversation, but Will passed them by and led him to the far outskirts of town. He seemed to know his way well. Merlin wondered when he’d been here or how often. Will had a habit of disappearing at odd times and never saying where he’d been when he came back. Without a mother or a father to rein him in, he could come and go as he pleased. Merlin sometimes envied him that.

He also often wondered why Will stayed in Ealdor at all, but it was probably because it was where he’d grown up. After his father’s death, the family’s house had passed to him, so at least he had a roof over his head. He was a hard worker, too, so he never went hungry. Merlin’s mother sewed for him, but he always paid her for it with money he earned working at the mill every harvest.

They finally arrived at their destination, a ramshackle old building at the very edge of town. There was music and raucous laughter coming from inside, and as they entered the main door, Merlin paused to stare in fascination at a group of tables where there were dice and card games in progress. Taunts, challenges and cheers from both the players and spectators were accompanied by gold coins tossed onto the tables and swept away nearly as quickly. He’d heard about gambling but had never actually seen it.

Will steered him away from that part of the huge room and pulled him around and about tables where people were eating and drinking and talking loudly, making boasts and telling stories, some of them bawdy from what Merlin could make out. He heard more than a few words that would certainly earn him a smack from his mother if he ever dared to utter them in her presence.

Once they reached the serving counter along the far wall, Will ordered two tankards of mead and tossed a couple of coins on the counter in payment. He handed Merlin one of the tankards and leaned over to talk right into his ear, it was that noisy in the place. “I’ve been saving up, doing some extra work for the miller between harvests. You have no idea how heavy a millstone is. I’ve gotten rather handy with a chisel. Here, this is for you.” He pressed a gold coin into Merlin’s hand. “Just in case you see something you like.”

Merlin frowned in confusion. He appreciated the gift – he didn’t have very much money of his own, usually none at all – but he wasn’t sure what Will was talking about. It wasn’t as if they were in a market. Then Will nudged him hard and gestured with his tankard towards an area in the corner that had been cleared of tables for a band of musicians and space for dancing. There seemed to be a lot of young women there and far more bare shoulders and arms than Merlin was accustomed to seeing. More discomfiting than that, though, was the way some of the men and women were dancing so closely, hands wandering over all sorts of places that Merlin was fairly sure shouldn’t be touched in public.

Suddenly, Merlin understood what Will meant. There were obviously things for sale here other than food and drink. This must’ve been his plan all along, his way of helping Merlin feel more like a man. Part of him wanted to slap Will and call him an idiot for thinking he’d be interested in doing this, but another, more primal part of him was keeping his feet rooted to the spot and his eyes fixed on nimble hands and pale skin and intriguing curves.

“They’ll do just about anything for a price,” Will said in a low voice, “and you can have your pick with that.” He tapped the fist Merlin had closed around the coin.

Merlin could feel his cheeks growing warmer and the tips of his ears starting to tingle. And other things making their presence known. He ducked his head and took a hurried gulp of his mead as he shoved the coin into his pocket.

“Drink up,” Will said as he quickly finished off his own tankard and set it back on the counter. “It’ll give you courage.”

“I don’t need…” he started to say, but trailed off, suddenly confused as to what the rest of that sentence was going to be. He didn’t need courage? Oh, he absolutely did if he was seriously considering doing what Will was suggesting. Did he _need_ what was so flagrantly on display here? Depended on your definition of need, he supposed, and what part of his body was being asked.

There was probably no harm in finishing the mead, at least. It wasn’t the best he’d ever tasted, not that he had much basis for comparison. It seemed he had very little experience with anything here. He took another sip from the tankard, but Will groaned and rolled his eyes and said, “Come on, Merlin, don’t act like a prissy little girl. Drink it like a man.”

He _hated_ when Will taunted him like that. He usually tried very hard not to show his annoyance and would normally toss back an insult just as biting if not more so, although he usually went for clever instead of being so blunt. He was lost for words at the moment, though, and turned to action instead. He downed the mead in several long pulls, nearly choking himself on the last swallow. Will laughed at him and slapped him on the back, then pulled the tankard from his grip and put it on the counter. Before Merlin could even think what might happen next, Will had grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over to the dancers, right into the press of moving bodies.

“Oh! What have we here?” said a woman with a tumble of messy auburn hair, flushed cheeks and eyes that told of a good deal of drink. She pressed her body up against Merlin’s and slid her hand up his neck, then trailed her fingers along the edge of his ear. “I do like unusual ears,” she said huskily. “Means other things are likely to be more interesting as well.”

His heart started to race and he probably would’ve turned and run if there hadn’t been so many other people around him, hemming him in. Plus Will had his hand firmly planted between Merlin’s shoulder blades, probably to keep him from scarpering.

“This is my friend Merlin,” Will said, leaning over towards the woman so she could hear him clearly. “He’s never been here before. It’s his first time, if you take my meaning.”

“Ahh!” the woman exclaimed, raking her eyes up and down Merlin's body as though she were considering some rare delicacy. He supposed he probably was just that, to someone like her. “I’ve got plenty of special offerings for new customers.” Then she pressed her lips to his ear and whispered things that made him outright panic. “Any of those take your fancy?” she asked as she pulled back.

“Umm… I… Uh…” He looked around desperately for Will, but he’d disappeared into the mass of bodies while Merlin was having described to him in detail things he never would’ve imagined anyone doing. “I think I need to get another drink,” he finally said, his voice unnaturally high-pitched as he pointed over his shoulder towards the counter.

“Suit yourself, dearie,” the woman said with a bit of a pout. “I'll still be here later if you change your mind.”

He nudged and pushed his way out of the crowd, trying to scoot away from or ignore the brash touches and flirtatious looks he was getting from the women. He was almost clear of them when someone actually grabbed his bottom and squeezed, hard. He yelped and scuttled away, heading back towards the counter. He looked around as he went, trying again to locate Will, and caught sight of him heading up the stairs to the upper level with his arm wrapped around a woman’s waist. He was saying something into her ear, and she tilted her head back and laughed. It suddenly seemed like a very good idea to Merlin to wait outside.

He escaped into the relatively cooler night air and found a wooden bench along the wall of the building some distance away from the door. He collapsed there, breathing hard, the dark of the night wrapping around him. What on earth had Will been thinking, bringing him here? Well, he knew exactly what Will had been thinking. And now he couldn’t help thinking about it himself and was thoroughly mortified that he had actually, for a few brief moments while they were standing there drinking their mead, seriously considered doing what Will intended. Part of him was still very interested in doing something like that, just not most of the things that woman had suggested.

He groaned and raked his fingers through his hair. He was not, not, _not_ going back in there. He couldn’t. But his body was trying to have a say, and it didn’t agree.

“Hello,” said a soft voice, startling him so much that he banged his head against the wall behind him.

“Ouch,” he muttered, rubbing at the sore spot.

There was a light, playful laugh, and he looked over to see a young woman holding a metal lantern, the light of the candle it contained shining warmly through the horn panels set in its sides. She had dark, wavy hair and was wearing a simple frock, deep blue in color, long enough that he couldn't see her feet, and with sleeves that went nearly all the way to her wrists. She also had a pale yellow shawl embroidered with green leaves pulled around her shoulders.

“Are you all right?” she asked with a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” He was rather embarrassed, both by having so clumsily hurt himself right in front of someone else, as well as being caught lurking outside of a place where most people were inside, quite heartily enjoying themselves. It made him feel like an outsider, a familiar experience for him, but not one that had ever been pleasant.

She walked over and sat on the bench next to him, resting the lantern on her knee, one small, graceful hand holding it secure by the ring on top. He could see her face a bit better now. She had smooth, pale skin and glittering, dark eyes. “You seem a bit lonely out here,” she said. Her voice was smooth and rich, and the calming effect it had put him more at ease.

“Oh. I just … needed some fresh air.”

“Ah. I see. You haven’t been here before, then?”

“Noooo. Definitely not. My friend brought me here. It was his idea.”

“And was it a good idea?” she asked with her head tilted to the side. The corners of her mouth were lifting with the beginnings of a smile. Her lips looked very soft and warm.

“I … haven’t decided yet,” he said slowly, staring at her a moment longer than was probably polite. She was very pretty. “Umm, I’m Merlin,” he said awkwardly, shoving his hand out towards her.

She took his hand and shook it gently. “I’m Roslyn. Pleased to meet you, Merlin.” She now had a full smile on her face, a bit of her teeth showing, and he couldn’t help but return it with a grin of his own. “So are you going back inside?" she asked as she slipped her hand out of his. "You don’t have to, you know.”

At first he thought she was simply being friendly, or perhaps obliquely pointing out that he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to, but then he noticed she’d scooted closer to him and had tilted her head down a bit to look up at him through her lashes. He glanced down, suddenly not wanting to meet her eyes, but found himself looking at something even more unnerving. The shawl had slipped from her shoulders, revealing a neckline cut low enough that she really should have had a blouse underneath, but she didn’t. What he could see wasn’t truly indecent, just a bit of bare, swelling, curve and the rest covered by the bodice of her dress, but he hadn’t been expecting it. She’d seemed so modest at first glance, but obviously she wasn’t.

“Oh,” he said faintly. He had to force himself to look back up. “You’re one of _them_ ,” he blurted out. She didn’t deny it, but looked a bit offended at his abruptness. “I mean… That sounded rude. Sorry.”

She gave half a shrug as she slid her arm under his, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Don’t worry about it, Merlin. You’re probably one of the more polite men here tonight.”

She tilted her head to rest her cheek on his shoulder. He was feeling edgy after realizing her intentions, but she seemed quite comfortable where she was and gave a contented little sigh. He found himself relaxing. This was quite nice, actually.

“So is there anything I can do for you, Merlin?” she murmured, breaking the silence. She pulled back and looked at him, one eyebrow raised. Speech completely deserted him. “It’s all right to want, Merlin. To need,” she said in a soft, low voice as she gently ran her hand along his jaw and swept her thumb over his lips. His mouth opened a little without his meaning to do so, and his breath caught in his throat. “And every now and then, it’s good to have it. Here, come with me.”

She took his hand, stood up and tugged. He got to his feet automatically and found himself following her even after she'd let go of him and had gone on a few steps ahead. He felt as if he’d lost the ability to think for himself and was giving in to pure, raw instinct.

She led him around the corner of the building and up the back stairs. The door at the top opened onto a dark corridor, a single candle in a wall bracket burning at the far end. There were quite a few … interesting … sounds coming from down that way, but Roslyn didn’t take him there. She produced a key from what must've been a pocket in her skirts, unlocked a door just inside the entrance and went inside.

He stood in the doorway while she took the lantern and set it down on a table. There was a candle in a simple metal holder on the table and a small, shuttered window above. The only other furnishings in the room were a chair and a plain wooden chest to either side of the table, and on the opposite wall, a neatly made bed that was obviously meant for more than one person.

She pulled off her shawl and draped it over the back of the chair, then picked up the candle and opened the door in the side of the lantern to light it. She returned the candle to the tabletop and blew out the lantern before turning to him and gesturing for him to enter. When he didn't move, she smiled reassuringly and said, “Don't worry. I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

He hesitantly entered the room, and she walked behind him to close and latch the door. Then she came back around to stand in front of him, looking at him appraisingly. “So, Merlin. What would you like?”

The things the other woman had whispered to him ran unbidden through his mind, and he felt a blush spreading across his cheeks. There was no way he could possibly repeat any of that. There was a lot of it that he most definitely did _not_ want to do, but there were a couple of things… “Umm…” He ran the fingers of one hand through his hair and let out a nervous laugh. “I… I’ve never… Well, I’ve never done much of anything with a woman, much less _asked_ for it.”

She nodded, a bit of her smile still lingering on her lips. “Why don’t you just let me figure it out, then?”

She moved closer to him and he retreated a few steps until his back was against the door. She stopped with a scant few inches between them and looked him deep in the eyes. It was a slightly uncomfortable but also tantalizing feeling, having her look at him like that.

“Oh!” he said, suddenly remembering the coin Will had given him. He pulled it out of his trouser pocket and held it up. “I suppose you’ll be wanting this.”

She flicked a glance sideways to see what it was, then returned her attention to his face. “Why don’t you keep that until you decide whether or not you’re satisfied with what you get?” Her voice was a sultry whisper full of unspoken promises. He fumbled the coin back into his pocket.

She moved a bit closer, and he felt her hands on his waist. He couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through him. Then one of her hands drifted over and downwards, to the front of his trousers, and oh, his body was most certainly begging for him to stop thinking. There was one final moment of resistance from his mind, then he leaned his head against the door, closed his eyes, and gave in to what the rest of him wanted.

There was a tugging at his waist. She was undoing the drawstring of his trousers and then pulling them down slowly. He shivered at the touch of the air, but then her hand was on him and he gasped. Of course he’d done that to himself lots of times before, but this was so, so different. Her hand was small and soft and warm and seemed to know what it was doing, and he was soon panting and trying hard not to make any noise. It probably didn't matter if he kept quiet in this place, but it was habit.

He vaguely noticed she was using her free hand to tuck the edge of his shirt up under his belt, out of the way. He wondered why she was bothering with that when everything seemed just fine – _more_ than fine – the way it was, but then there was a rustling sound and warm breath feathering over his hip. He almost opened his eyes to see what she was doing, but then her mouth slid slowly over him and he couldn’t keep himself from moaning.

His head fell back again and his hands scrabbled at the door a bit, his fingers shaking. His knees felt weak and his legs were trembling, but he somehow managed to stay upright. She did it slowly, gently, and he couldn’t help but think that he was so very glad he hadn’t gone with that first woman because he had no doubt that with her, it would have been fast and hard and rough.

This… This was exquisite, like nothing he’d ever felt before. He’d never even imagined how _good_ something like this could feel. It felt entirely _too_ good, in fact, and he knew it wasn’t going to last long. He could feel the tension building in his body and tried to shift away from her, but she grabbed his hips and pushed him firmly back against the door. Her motions were a bit quicker now, but not urgent or frantic, which exactly was how he was feeling. She seemed certain and perfectly in control, which he found more than a bit exciting, and everything was still so soft and warm and _wonderful_.

And then fire went through him, spreading from the pit of his stomach to every part of his body. He cried out as his back arched away from the door and he couldn’t speak from breathing so hard. He daren’t move either. It was only because his knees were locked that he didn’t crumple to the floor. When he finally regained some composure and opened his eyes, she was standing in front of him again. She wasn’t looking at him, though, but at the air above and around him, a startled and awed look on her face.

There were tiny lights all around them, hundreds of them, golden and sparkling. _He’d_ done that. He knew it instinctively. It hadn’t even been conscious, but there it was, undeniable.

He quickly pulled his trousers up, his fingers tangling in the drawstring. He needed to get out of here, quickly, and run as fast and as far as he could. He turned and tried to undo the door latch, but her fingers closed around his wrist and she said, “No. Don’t go. It’s beautiful.”

He’d never had anyone describe his magic that way before, and the hushed yearning in her voice made him stand very still. Then she was tugging at his arm, leading him away from the door and pulling him down to sit beside her on the bed. The lights followed them, and she was watching them the entire time, but as they faded, she turned and looked at him, an odd mixture of joy and sadness in her eyes.

“I don’t suppose you could make them come back?” she asked shyly, but there was a hint of intimate suggestion in her voice as well.

“I’m not sure. That’s never happened before. I don’t think I even know where to begin.”

“Oh, I do,” she said, and now the innuendo was brimming through her voice. His breathing hadn't quite settled back to normal yet, and now it was speeding up again as she undid the belt cinched around his waist and tossed it to the side. His thoughts were still in a whirl as well, and he wondered what she was doing. Then she pulled his tunic up and over his head and off his arms in one swift movement.

“Wait. I don’t… I can’t…”

She paused and said gently, “Hush. I know. I won’t do anything more than I’ve already done, but I think you might need a little encouragement to get there. You may be young, but no man’s that … resilient.” She slid her hand slowly down his bare chest, and he shivered. Just one touch was all it took for his hesitation to disappear as if it had never been. It was as if she had magic in her fingers, but not the kind that needed spells or a flash of golden light in the eyes.

He’d never had a woman touch his bare skin in a place normally covered by his clothing, except for his mother, of course, which didn’t count, and Nialla, who was a shameless flirt and had pulled him behind a tree to kiss him, just to make Bowen jealous. She’d pressed her tongue between his lips and had slid her hand under his shirt, stroking the skin on his side just above his waist, but then she’d pulled away and run off laughing. She’d married Bowen the following month, and they’d moved to another village.

He watched entranced as Roslyn slid fluidly off the bed and knelt on the floor. She was still looking up at him, though, and he kept his gaze fixed on her, on her eyes so dark in the candlelight. He could easily get lost there and never want to leave again. Then he noticed she was starting to tug his boots off. He leaned over to try and help but she firmly pushed his hands away. “No. Let me.”

Just the thought of having a woman undress him with intentions to do decadent things to him was enough to send his pulse racing again, and she was actually doing it. He had to remind himself to breathe or he very likely might’ve passed out.

Once she’d gotten his boots and socks off, she told him to stand up. He wasn’t sure he could at first, his legs were shaking so badly, but he managed. She tugged his trousers down again, and this time he watched her do it. She’d been right about the encouragement because he wasn’t _quite_ ready to be doing anything again, but he was getting there, and quickly.

She leaned around him, her soft, silky hair brushing against the side of his thigh, and tugged the coverlet down the bed. Then she pulled back and gave him a little shove with a hand on either hipbone, making him sit down with a thump on the sheet. It was the roughest she’d been with him, but he rather enjoyed the thrill it gave him.

She finished pulling his trousers off, then stood to gather his clothing and deposit it all on the chair by the desk. After that she sauntered back over to him and looked him slowly up and down. “Lean back a bit,” she said, and he did, putting his arms behind him to brace himself. He felt somewhat self-conscious at first – he knew he was quite a bit lankier than most women found attractive – but there was a seductive glimmer in her eyes that was doing all sort of things to him, cold and shivery, warm and glowing, both at the same time.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered. First his magic, now _him_? He doubted he’d ever be able to hear that word again and not blush to the tops of his ears.

Then she sank down in front of him, ran her hands down his thighs and nudged his knees apart. Just that bit of commanding pressure was all he needed for arousal to flood completely through him again. She gave him a little smile and moved forward into the space between his legs, her hands on his thighs again. “You might want to lie down,” she said with a quirked eyebrow. “I doubt you’ll be able to keep yourself propped up like that for long.”

He did as she suggested. She was probably right, judging from how weak-limbed and shaky he’d been before, but he felt awkward and vulnerable lying sideways across the bed with his feet still on the floor and not a stitch of clothing on his body.

“Close your eyes,” she murmured, perhaps sensing his unease. “Just like before.”

He did, and it helped immensely, allowing him to simply focus on the sensations. His hands fisted in the sheet underneath him at her first gentle touch, and when she slid her mouth over him again, he was lost. It was even better than before, long and slow and achingly sweet. She responded to every twitch of his muscles, every breath that he took, every moan that slipped out. It was as if she knew him better than he did himself, knew what he wanted, what he needed, and gave it to him tenfold.

When the climax came this time, all wildfire and rushing blood and hammering heart, his senses completely abandoned him for a moment. After awareness crept back into him, he opened his eyes to find the sweep of golden stars had returned. Roslyn had climbed onto the bed with him and was lying on her side, her arm across his stomach. “Beautiful…” she whispered.


	2. Sorrow and Joy

The memory of Roslyn’s voice and her eyes and the way she’d touched him was more than enough to undo Merlin now as he stood in the sunlight streaming in through the window of his borrowed room in Camelot, with the breeze whispering around him and the distant sounds of life drifting up from the courtyard below. He gasped at the release, then blew out a long, slow breath. He hadn’t realized there’d been that much tension in him, but it _had_ been a while, since before he’d left Ealdor.

He looked down and noticed the washcloth served a dual purpose by not only providing that wonderfully slippery feel of gentle friction, but also catching the mess afterwards. He wondered what the real thing would feel like by comparison. There were certainly a lot more available women here than there had been in Ealdor. Maybe that was part of the reason his mother had sent him here. Well, not to do whatever he wanted with any willing woman, of course. She’d given him that talk some time ago, about how babies were made, and there was an unspoken warning about leaving a woman to raise a child alone.

But even beyond that, there was still the issue of his magic. There hadn’t been any stars since Roslyn, but he didn’t think it had anything to do with her specifically. He suspected someone else was needed to produce the result, sort of like it being nigh on impossible to tickle yourself. He was more than a little concerned that there’d be some kind of spontaneous outburst of magic the next time he found himself in a bothered situation with a woman. He should probably figure a way to practice restraining his magic, or he’d die a lonely, old man with unicorns trailing after him.

He tossed the soapy cloth on the floor and rinsed with the clean one, flinching a bit at the residual sensitivity. He didn’t think he’d ever been that clean down there in his entire life. It felt a bit odd. Not a bad kind of odd, necessarily. He’d have to see if he felt the same way next time.

For some reason, deliberately planning to do this again made him vaguely uncomfortable. It had always been a spur-of-the-moment, opportunistic thing in Ealdor. Then again, there were quite a few more restrictions on his time now, certain places to be at very particular times. Being a peasant among peasants had actually had certain advantages, such as time measured in morning, afternoon, evening and night instead of being broken down into hours.

He sighed as he tossed both of the flannels into the washbasin and swished them around to rinse before wringing them out. Then he dried himself off with the larger cloth, rubbing vigorously to bring the circulation back into parts of his body where it had recently been diminished in favor of other areas.

All of that accomplished, he started to dress, but he’d only gotten his trousers on when he remembered he hadn’t washed his hair. He opened the door of his room and went shirtless and barefoot to carry the washbasin full of dirty water down the stairs. There was a small grate covering a drain in the corner of the main room, put there, so Gaius had explained to him, because the activities in a physician’s quarters often produced things that needed to be washed away. Somehow, Merlin didn’t think this was what Gaius had in mind, but still, it was handy.

He used a bit of the water in the bucket by the drain to rinse out the basin, then looked around until he found a pitcher he could use to pour water over his head. He figured it might be simpler to do so directly over the drain, so he started to set the pitcher down in order to go back upstairs to fetch the soap and the remainder of his wash water, but then there was a soft knock at the door. He whirled around, clutching the pitcher to his chest, just as Guinevere opened the door.

“Gaius…” she said, but her voice trailed off and her cheeks started to color as she saw Merlin standing there. “Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, it’s fine,” he blurted out. “You weren’t interrupting anything.” He felt his own face warming as he thought that wouldn’t have been true if she’d arrived a bit earlier. Then he realized it wasn’t exactly a usual thing to find someone half-naked holding a pitcher in the middle of a room, so he added, “I mean, I was about to wash my hair, that’s all.” And confound it all if his voice didn’t crack. He gave her a strained smile.

“I’ll just … leave you to it then,” she said with a vaguely confused look on her face, then she turned to go.

His shoulders slumped in relief, but then she turned back around. “Would you tell Gaius I stopped by? It’s about Morgana’s sleeping draught. I think she needs something stronger.”

“Yes. Of course. Morgana’s sleeping draught. Got it.”

She smiled faintly and tilted her head, as if trying to puzzle something out, but she gave up the effort after only a moment, which was a very good thing because Merlin was starting to feel decidedly uncomfortable under her gaze. She nodded her head slightly and left without saying anything else.

He let out a huge sigh of relief once she was gone. He wondered if she was the one who’d left the soap. He seemed to recall her smelling of rosemary the handful of times he’d been close enough to her to tell. That might’ve just been from cooking, though. Nevertheless, he determined to go down to the market as soon as possible to get a different cake of soap. Otherwise, he might be tempted to think of Guinevere the next time he washed, and that would just be wrong in so many ways. He wouldn’t be able to ever look at her again without blushing. He’d get something that was nothing like rosemary. Mint, maybe. Or pine.

He decided it might be better to wash his hair in his room after all, in order to avoid any more encounters with people wandering into Gaius’s quarters, so he took both the pitcher and basin back upstairs and closed and latched the door again. He dunked the pitcher into the bucket of wash water, then leaned over the now empty basin so it would catch the water that ran down and off his head.

As he was lathering his hair, it occurred to him that he was going to positively reek of rosemary now and would probably have to endure endless teasing about it from Arthur. If that happened, though, he had the perfect way to discretely pay him back. He'd noticed a vial of rose oil amongst the bewildering array of items scattered about Gaius's vast main room. He could borrow it and slip a bit into Arthur’s bath so he’d have to spend a day smelling excessively girly. Merlin couldn’t help but smile at the imagined outcome – the knights making exaggerated sniffing noises around Arthur and very loudly whispering about rumors that the prince had slaughtered an entire rose garden.

Buoyed up by the possibility of giving Arthur a bit of comeuppance, Merlin rinsed his hair and briskly rubbed it mostly dry, then finished getting dressed. He still had a bit of time before he’d need to be back at Arthur’s chambers, so he climbed up on the bench below the window to look out. He sighed and rested his arms on the sill, letting the breeze ruffle his hair and dry the last of the dampness. He doubted he’d ever get tired of this view, but he still missed his home, his mother, Will and their misadventures. His thoughts wandered again, back to what had happened the rest of that night in Atherton.

*****

He and Roslyn lay there together in silence and watched the conjured swath of glittering, golden lights until every last one had winked out and they were left with only the considerably fainter and more mundane light of the candle.

“Thank you, Merlin,” she murmured into his ear, then she drew her fingers lightly across his stomach as she pulled away. “Get under the covers and rest for a bit. Take as long as you like. I won’t need the room again tonight.”

Suddenly feeling extremely awkward with his utter lack of clothing while she was fully dressed, he sat up and tugged the coverlet over his lap. "You don't have to leave," he said as he watched her cross the room and retrieve her shawl.

“I never stay afterwards, Merlin," she replied, facing away from him as she wrapped the shawl firmly around her shoulders. "That might leave you wanting something I can’t give.”

Now he felt frustratingly naive and more than a bit of an idiot. This was essentially a business transaction, after all, not a tumble arising from mutual affection. “But I haven’t paid you yet,” he muttered. It was probably best to give her the money quickly and have this be over and done.

“I don’t need money from you,” she said gently, and now she did turn around. “You’ve given me magic tonight, and that’s far more precious.” There was an odd expression on her face. She was smiling, but there was a glimmer in her eyes that looked to be a hint of unshed tears.

"I could show you more, if you like," he said wistfully, then realized that statement could be interpreted in a way he didn’t intend. He hastily added, “I mean, there are lots of others things I can do without ... encouragement.” He knew even as he said it, though, that she would decline. He simply wanted a little while longer to savor the acceptance of someone who wasn’t terrified of his magic or wanting to turn him over to bounty hunters or ready to kill him on the spot. Although he’d never actually had any of those things happen to him – apart from Roslyn, only his mother and Will knew his secret, and Will had been surprised and fascinated rather than alarmed when he'd found out – his mother had warned him repeatedly, and he’d heard stories from others ranging from unpleasant to nightmare-inducing. This was more of a dream, and it was fading fast.

“Magic’s a dangerous thing to ask for," Roslyn said slowly, her smile shifting into a slight frown and the look in her eyes dimming into something very serious. "And even more perilous to give. Be careful, Merlin.”

“I know. I always am,” he replied dejectedly. It always came back to this. Be careful, keep it a secret, don’t let anyone know. “Well, I try my best anyway,” he added, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards. There was no sense wallowing in regret about things that couldn't be changed. “You caught me off my guard.”

She laughed, the sound low and sweet, and a soft smile reappeared on her face. She turned to relight her lantern before facing him again. Her expression had shifted yet again, to something distant and thoughtful, and she was quiet for a moment before she said, “Maybe one day, you won’t have to hide anymore. It’s such a shame to keep beauty in the dark.”

He didn’t quite know what to say in response to that. It seemed too big a wish to ever be granted, a hope that he didn’t dare cling to for fear he would spend his entire life waiting for something that never would be. He looked down at his hands and twisted his fingers together in his lap.

She trailed a hand over his shoulder, then left without another word. After he heard the door close, he looked up and stared at the flame of the single candle left behind. She'd taken the lantern, of course. She'd need it to light her way, wherever she was going now.

He felt lonely all of a sudden, and not just because there was no one else in the room with him. It was a sort of deep-down ache that had crept into him slowly throughout his childhood and was now such a part of him that he hardly noticed it except for times like this.

He pulled in a long, deep breath and let it out again, very slowly. He was utterly exhausted, in body and mind, so he got up and blew out the candle, then went back to the bed, laid down on his back and pulled the covers up. After a moment he shifted to his side and curled up a bit, then very deliberately pushed everything out of his mind so that sleep would claim him quickly. He'd feel better after a rest. He almost always did, as if breaking away from the waking allowed him to drift a bit and then reenter it from a different direction.

When he awoke, he could hear the din of music and voices from the tavern below, not abated at all from earlier, so he couldn’t have been asleep for very long. He laid there for a moment, thinking back to Roslyn's words about beauty in the dark. There would always be those who would look for it, and see, and not be afraid. There was some comfort in that.

He got up and dressed slowly without lighting the candle, then went out and down the back stairs. He paused and took a deep breath of the fresh night air, a bit cooler now than when he'd gone upstairs with Roslyn. He probably should go and find Will and see what kind of trouble he was getting into now.

He reentered the tavern from the front door, the light and life and boisterous noise there shifting his mood back to a slightly more cheerful one. He could never stay sad or angry for long. His mother said it was one of his best qualities. Will didn't agree. He harbored things like resentment. Merlin always tried his best to break through his friend’s dark stubbornness when it appeared, but it wasn't always easy.

His eyes scanned the room, quickly shifting past the musicians and the dancing to find Will sitting on a stool at the counter, laughing at something the man next to him was saying. Merlin gave a short huff of laughter and made his way over. Tonight was not a time for regrets. He had a friend who knew his secret and treated him like he was any other person. That meant a great deal to him, perhaps even more than being told his magic was precious.

Will didn’t notice Merlin until he’d sat down beside him. “Merlin!” he said cheerfully and clapped him on the back. There were bright spots of color on his cheeks, and he had a huge grin on his face. Merlin wondered how much he’d had to drink. “Where have you been?”

He briefly considered keeping the entire experience to himself, maybe only saying that he'd been out to get some fresh air, but he'd probably been gone too long for Will to believe that. "Spending your money,” he finally said, even though he hadn't actually done so. He wasn’t about to let Will know he still had the coin in his pocket. Served him right for not telling what he was up to when they left Ealdor.

“Ahhh,” Will drawled out, nodding his head knowingly. “I thought you looked a little bit sullied.”

“It wasn’t like that,” he replied, somewhat defensively.

“Aww, don’t look so offended, Merlin. Save the roses and twinkly fairy lights for someone you love.”

"How did you...?" Merlin started to blurt out. His immediate thought was that Will had heard some story or other along the way and had kept it to himself, just so he could tease Merlin about it at some point. Will often picked up odd bits of information during his various wanderings, and from time to time, they had to do with magic. He broke off what he was saying, though, when Will raised his eyebrows, a surprised look on his face. Of course he hadn’t known, couldn’t possibly. He’d just been talking rubbish yet again.

“Fairy lights? Really?” Will said, his voice gone a bit higher than usual. His eyebrows were still up, and the corner of his mouth was twitching. That was not a good sign. It usually meant some brutal teasing was about to commence.

“Shut up, Will,” he shot back, annoyed that Will had gotten the better of him without even having to try. Merlin had done all the work for him.

Will apparently decided to leave him be for the moment, maybe in honor of what he probably thought had happened between his friend and whatever woman he'd been with for the last little while. He laughed and thumped Merlin on the back again, then bought him another tankard of mead. They sat there companionably drinking for a moment before Will gave him a bit of a leering grin and asked, “So was it good?”

“Yes,” he replied with a smirk, determined to get Will back at least a little for this whole escapade. “Both times.”

“Both times?” Will blurted as he spit out the drink of mead he was about to swallow.

“That’s what I said.”

“Merlin, you scoundrel. I never would have guessed.”

“Maybe there’s a few things you don’t know about me,” he said and went back to his drink. He knew what Will was thinking had happened, and he wasn't about to disabuse him of the notion. It irked him sometimes that Will kept the details of his occasional private ventures to himself, especially when he already knew the one secret that Merlin had. It was a very big secret, though, so maybe Will felt he had to have a lot of little ones to make up for it.

Once they’d finished drinking, they went to a much quieter, reasonably respectable inn and slept the night through and well past dawn the next day. It was full dark when they got back to Ealdor, and Merlin had to light their way the last little bit with magic. His mother gave him an odd look when he came in the door but didn’t ask any questions, and the next day, everything was back to usual.

He went back to Atherton by himself, though, after the harvest had been brought in. He wanted to see Roslyn again, although he wasn't quite sure what he wanted from her. He wasn't looking for a repeat of their previous encounter, and she'd made it clear she had no desire for any other kind of relationship. He simply felt as though there was something more that needed to be said. He had no idea what, but that didn't stop him from going.

He left when the dawn was barely lighting the sky since the days were shorter now, and he managed to arrive in Atherton just as the last of the twilight was fading. The tavern wasn’t quite as noisy or crowded as it had been before. Probably fewer travelers with the winter coming on. He walked up to the counter and ordered a tankard of mead. When the barkeep delivered it, he handed over a coin and asked, “I don’t suppose Roslyn’s about tonight?”

“Roslyn?” The man paused for a moment with his forehead furrowing in thought. “No one here by that name. Least ways, not now. There was a Roslyn before harvest time. Dark, wavy hair and bright eyes. That Roslyn?”

“Yes. What happened to her?” he asked hesitantly. It hadn't occurred to him that she wouldn't be here at all, and he hoped nothing awful had happened to her.

“She left. Only stayed a couple of weeks. She was a flighty one for sure. Seen her type before. Blows in and out like the wind, never staying anywhere for long.”

“Do you have any idea where she went?” He wasn't quite sure why he was asking. It shouldn't matter to him. He couldn't exactly go chasing after her, even if he wanted to. He had responsibilities at home.

“Don’t reckon I recall which way the wind was blowing that day,” he replied with a laugh. When Merlin didn’t join in, though, the barkeep eyed him sharply and said, “You wouldn’t happen to be Merlin, would you?”

For a panicked moment he wondered if she’d told anyone about his magic. Maybe the barkeep was hoping to earn some extra coin by turning a sorcerer over to a bounty hunter. Not that he was actually a sorcerer since he'd never learned any spells. His mother had told him that “warlock” was the proper term for what he was. That wouldn’t matter to anyone wishing him harm, though. Magic was magic, and that was enough.

The barkeep apparently picked up on his sudden skittishness and didn’t want it to become any worse – that would be disruptive to his business, after all – so he said in a kindly voice, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, lad. Did she get you into some kind of trouble?”

“No! No. Nothing like that." He felt a bit ashamed for having doubted her, however briefly. "I just wanted to see her again.”

“Well, she left you this.” The barkeep rummaged about under the countertop and pulled out a small, folded piece of parchment. Merlin saw his name written on the outside and went to take it, but the barkeep held on to it for a moment as he said very sternly, “Just a word of advice to you. Whatever this here says, even if it tells you where she’s gone, think long and hard before you go running after her. Women like that, they don’t want to be saved.”

Merlin didn't like being told what to do by a man who hardly knew him, but then he didn't know Roslyn much better. The barkeep was probably just trying to pass on his experience to someone who didn’t have much of his own, at least not in matters like this. Merlin gave a jerky nod. The man relinquished the note and went back to his work.

He drank a bit of the mead before he left, partly because he'd paid for it and was thirsty, but also because he was apprehensive about what was in the note and wanted to delay for a bit before he read it. He had a feeling it was going to be something final. He waited until he’d gotten outside before he broke the wax seal and opened the message.

_Merlin,_

_Life is full of struggle and sorrow and pain, but every now and then, a bit of joy shines through. Thank you for being one of those moments of joy._

_Blessings and peace,_

_Roslyn_

He slowly refolded the parchment and put it in his pocket. The moon was full that night, so he didn’t bother to stay in town. He walked home in the silvery, shadowy woods with a strange feeling in his chest that he didn’t quite understand.

*****

Merlin sighed and pulled his thoughts back to the present. He really had to get going before Arthur started looking for him. He’d probably end up in the stocks again if that happened, and he’d really hate to have all the washing he'd just completed undone so soon. Then again, the bathing part hadn’t been so bad. Not to be repeated with the rosemary soap, though, he reminded himself. He went down to the market the next day and found some soap that smell of both mint _and_ pine. Brisk and refreshing and nothing like rosemary.

Sometime later, more than a year after he’d arrived in Camelot, there was a woman who told him of her home, a village by a lake, surrounded by pine trees and tall mountains. Freya. He imagined there was mint growing wild in the grass alongside the flowers in that place.

He wondered if part of the reason why he made the spur-of-the-moment decision to help her was because she reminded him of Roslyn. But whereas Roslyn was free, so very, very free, and he doubted she needed anyone to save her, if she wanted to be saved at all, Freya was chained and caged and did need someone to set her free. She tried to dissuade him from helping her after that, but he knew in his heart she desperately needed someone to cling to just as much as he needed to believe there might be hope for both of them to share a future unafraid of what they were.

She told him his magic was beautiful, too. He gave her the rose Will had teased him about, but he had to substitute candle flames for a shower of stars. He wanted there to be stars. Oh, how he wanted that, gold around them and sparkling silver in the sky, shining down on the lake and the mountains and the cool, green grass. But it wasn’t meant to be.

After he’d laid her to rest and the pain had dulled enough that it no longer hurt to breathe, he realized he finally understood what that feeling was, the day he’d left Atherton with Roslyn’s note in his pocket. It was heartache, a slight pain at that time, really, because he hadn’t any idea what he’d wanted and so couldn’t really mourn for its loss.

With Freya, though, he’d known exactly what he so fervently desired, had pictured it perfectly in his mind and seen it reflected back to him in her eyes. And the pain that came afterwards wasn’t an ache, but his heart truly breaking. It hurt so horribly that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be the same. Life went on, of course. He was back to cleaning the prince’s boots the next day.

He got rid of the mint and pine soap because, really, it would be ridiculous to end up crying every time he bathed. He found some that didn’t smell of anything in particular, just a generally soapy kind of scent. Standing in the marketplace stall, he had the absurd notion that his future with women was somehow marked out by what had come from this place. There was rosemary – something comfortable and kind, but not really what he wanted, not romantically at least. Then there was mint and pine – nothing but loss and pain. Or there would be the sorts of relationships that were nothing particularly special, there and then gone.

"Are you going to buy that or just stand there looking gloomy all day?" The voice of the merchant woman startled him. She was a gruff sort, middle-aged and graying.

"Um, yes," he replied. “To the buying part, that is. Not the standing around looking gloomy bit.” He handed over the soap so she could wrap it, paid her, then took his package and left without another word exchanged.

As he walked back to Gaius's quarters, he tried to focus on the positive things in his life. The sun was shining, Arthur had been in a good mood that morning, and no attacks on Camelot were imminent or underway. Really, he couldn't complain too much about his situation. As he'd once told Arthur when they were lying on the floor in his childhood home in Ealdor, he'd grown up with very little, contentment measured in basic needs like a roof over his head and food on the table. He had those things here in Camelot as well, but now there was so much more.

He had a purpose, some days simply as a servant and other days as something vastly more complicated and oftentimes dangerous, but with results far more rewarding than clean boots and scrubbed floors. He had people who cared about him in their varying ways – Gwen with her cheer and motherly concern, Gaius with his wisdom and guidance in matters of magic and destiny, Arthur with his bizarre sort of antagonistic friendship. He even had the hope that one day he wouldn't have to hide in the dark any longer, that he would be able to use his magic freely and not be feared or hated for it.

Once he reached his room, he set his purchase down on his desk but decided to forgo the washing up for the time being. His work since midday yesterday hadn’t been particularly strenuous, just the usual sort of fetching and carrying, polishing armor and sharpening swords. He’d gotten surprisingly good at that last one.

He hadn't even been sent to muck out the stables today. That was no longer one of his daily tasks, not since he'd pointed out to Arthur that there were stable boys whose job it was to do such things. Arthur still made him do it when he was annoyed, but he’d been reasonably cheerful for the past couple of days. It made Merlin feel vaguely uneasy, but he supposed he should enjoy the respite while it lasted.

Since he was already in a reflective frame of mind, he opened the chest at the foot of his bed and rummaged around in it a bit before he found a canvas sack in which he kept a few treasured possessions. There wasn't much in it because most of what he owned was practical and had a specific purpose. He had little time or money for trinkets, but he had collected a few things that meant something only to him. He sat cross-legged on his bed and dumped the contents of the sack out in front of him.

There were letters from his mother, every one she'd written to him since he'd left Ealdor. There was also a smooth, golden-brown stone that he'd found when he was a child and had taken home to her. She'd told him it was amber and that he should keep it for luck.

There was a piece of the tattered dress Freya had been wearing when he'd released her from the cage. He'd washed it in the pine and mint soap because it had been dirty and foul, and he didn't want to remember her like that, cursed and crouched in fear. He pressed his face into the rough fabric and inhaled deeply, thinking of a sparkling lake and snowy mountains and a bed of ferns. He allowed himself just a moment with those memories because there was still so much pain that came with them.

He set the fabric aside and picked up the gold coin Will had given him so long ago, in the tavern in Atherton. He’d kept it because it reminded him of Roslyn, who’d told him his magic was beautiful and precious, worth much more than gold, and because it had been a gift from Will, who had known his secret and kept it and had died still keeping him safe.

Then there was the message Roslyn had left for him when she'd departed Atherton, somehow knowing that he would come back looking for her. He hadn't read it again since then, but now he opened it and looked at it with more mature eyes, ones that had seen so much in the intervening years. He was a different person now, in so many ways, and he found a meaning in the words he hadn't realized was there before.

_Life is full of struggle and sorrow and pain, but every now and then, a bit of joy shines through._

He didn't know what she'd suffered in her life or what future she'd gone to after he'd met her, but now he understood that what she'd written to him was true for everyone, to a greater or lesser degree. There would always be struggle and sorrow and pain. But there was joy as well, blessings great and small that came into every life, no matter how humble or burdened or filled with misfortune.

He slowly put his mementoes back into the sack, but he set Roslyn's note aside. After he’d returned his other keepsakes to the trunk, he carefully folded the piece of parchment and slipped it into his pocket. He wanted to keep it and the thoughts it inspired near to him so he would always remember to look for the joy in life, to relish those moments when they came and appreciate them for their simple beauty. Afterwards, he’d keep the memories close, put them away for solace, and look towards the next bit of brightness, no matter how far off in the distance it may seem. In that way, he knew he'd never be lost in the dark. There would always be a bit of joy shining through.

*****

The End


End file.
